


wish i could have quit you

by forcynics



Series: vampire diaries ficathon fills [9]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcynics/pseuds/forcynics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tells himself he hates her, hates her more than anyone else in this godforsaken world, but when she’s gasping and moaning underneath him, against the wall, on top of him, in all her glory, those aren’t the words that he has to bite back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wish i could have quit you

**Author's Note:**

> set early season 2, after katherine's return

 

 

 

This needs to stop. It’s so far beyond self-destructive, and there’s no way it can end well. That’s what everyone else would tell him if they found out, he _knows_ that. He’s still a bit amazed that no one _has_ found out, except that Katherine always knew how to keep secrets.

It’s just that when she’s pressing her tiny mouth against his, pushing her tongue past his lips, he’s helpless to do anything but cave, fingers reaching for her hips, digging in hard enough to bruise if she were human – but of course, it’s been a long time since she ever was.

She knows all the right buttons to press, his most sensitive spots, know just the right steps to make him groan and come undone, hers, always hers.

 

 

 

Teeth buried into his shoulder to muffle the noises she’s making, and stray curls fan across his face – if he closes his eyes tightly enough, it’s 1864 again, and she loves him. The words are on the tip of his tongue, always on the tip of his tongue, even though that’s not what this is about, _never_ what they were about, he learned. She crushes him so easily, simply; all it takes is a few words.

He tells himself he hates her, hates her more than anyone else in this godforsaken world, but when she’s gasping and moaning underneath him, against the wall, on top of him, in all her glory, those aren’t the words that he has to bite back.

And when he does open his mouth, she presses hers to it, kisses away these words that shouldn’t be spoken.

 

 

 

Love and fucking don’t go hand in hand. This is the latter, not the former. He doesn’t love her. But he did for a century and a half – he still feels the aftershocks in his skin. That doesn’t go away easily. Maybe never. She smirks when he kisses her and he knows that she knows this.

She burns brighter than anyone else he’s ever known; too bright, and it hurts. But too bright for him to ever look away, turn away.

Her back arches, her warm skin pressing against his – her lips are parted just slightly, but no sound escapes. He has to bite down on his to ensure the same. Always afraid of what might tumble out.

 

 

 

His fingers are fisted in her hair, encouraging her with the rock of his hips as she wraps her mouth around his cock. Groan escapes him, and she lifts her head, licks her lips slowly. His grip loosens, fingers fall out of her curls as she crawls up his chest – he grabs her arms instead, rolls her and him over, holds himself up above her.

She quivers as he pushes himself inside her, gradually, unrushed. Whimper falls from her lips, and he smiles, _smiles_ to hear her whimper, _make_ her whimper.

Her eyes close, fingernails dig into his shoulders, and his lips crash down to meet hers. They move together, against each other, neither giving way, giving in. Speed picks up, they are rushed and messy, never careful – only careful that it means nothing.

It is the same either way, as far as he sees it; he is nothing to her, but he is nothing without her either.

 

 

 


End file.
